


Your face is gonna make me weep

by briony8969



Category: Angel: the Series, Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, Crossover, Dramedy, Gen, Pining Wesley, Really this is more of an Angel fic than anything, Young Dean Winchester, as though there were any other kind of Wesley, uncomfortably bisexual Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-10-17 11:16:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/briony8969/pseuds/briony8969
Summary: So yeah the timelines for Angel: the Series and Supernatural KINDA line up so I decided to see what would happen if Angel Investigations ran into John and Dean Winchester. Takes place in Season 3 of Angel between "Provider" and "Waiting in the Wings."





	1. The Sewers

Los Angeles – 2002

Angel was, as he so often found himself, in a fucking sewer.

“Are you sure that this is the correct location? I mean, the place Cordelia saw in her vision?” Wesley asked, gripping his unnecessarily large axe tightly in his hands and treading lightly around the garbage and occasional drowned rat that floated past his feet. 

There were moments when Wesley’s excruciatingly posh English accent grated on Angel. A man who spoke to soulless Angelus with such an accent would have met an immediate and brutal end. But Angel was good at ignoring his inner Angelus now, and Wes was a buddy.

“I can smell them Wes, we’re on the right track.” He replied, trying to sound chipper. 

“We better be.” Charles Gunn said. “If we don’t find a monster in the next 10 minutes I’m getting the fuck out because I am DONE with this sewer.”

Angel was about to respond with reassurances but the nearby sound of a man’s yell cut him off.

“That didn’t sound like a demon to me.” Gunn observed.

“They must have dragged somebody to the nest. LET’S GO!” Angel commanded, and he and his two comrades in arms started to run. 

Angel got there first (vampire speed!). The particularly nasty den of Ronwe demons that they’d been trying to sniff out were up and at it, all dark blue scales and pointed green horns and oozing sores. Cordelia had at this point in her career of “visions girl” run out of ways to describe demonic oozing sores, which was, frankly a drag. They were fierce fighters though, and from the looks of it about a dozen of them had encircled two flannel clad men who, surprisingly, were managing to fight them off. So far, anyway.

“Who the hell are they?” Gunn asked, gesturing towards the two humans under attack.

“No idea.” Angel said, and jumped down into the fray. The two men they didn’t know were fighting bravely but they were vastly outnumbered, and their shouts were getting desperate.

Angel landed directly behind one of the blue assholes, and sliced its head off with a clean sweep of his sword. 

“So long, papa smurf.” He said with a smug little smile. The man he had just rescued raised an eyebrow, clearly not an appreciator of fine quips. They didn’t have time to discuss, however, as the demons were pressing in from all sides.

Once Gunn and Wes started hacking away at them the demons had no chance, number advantage and all. It took the team about 10 minutes to clear out the whole nest, leaving the five men panting for breath amidst the pile of blue corpses. 

“Are you all right?” Wesley called out to the two flannelly dudes. 

“One of them fucked up my knee a little bit.” The younger man said, wiping a little bit of blue blood off of his forehead while he tried to assess how bad his wound was. He had short, gelled hair in a style Angel would have approved of, and big green eyes. He cringed as he tried to bend one of his knees and grabbed on to the other man for support. This one had darker hair and more stubble, and he had the kind of hardened expression that you see on ex cons and homeless people, a look that suggests a tough life. 

The older man pulled out a gun and leveled it at Wesley’s face. The act of doing so nearly knocked the younger man he was supporting off balance.

“Who the hell are you?” He asked.

“Hold on a minute…” Angel said, looking more closely at the features of the gun wielding man for the first time since joining the fray. 

“Yes, please hold on a minute, before shooting me.” Wes said dryly, glancing over at Angel who seemed unacceptably nonchalant about this whole situation. “Or rather, don’t shoot me at all, would be the preferable option, in all honesty.” 

“I know you!” Angel said, almost cheerfully, walking over to the older man. “You were that guy!”

“What guy?” The older man asked, not lowering his weapon or breaking his gaze from Wesley.

“Dad. Watch out.” The young man struggled to pull out his gun and aim it at Angel, and Gunn pointed his sword at the young man. Things were getting ridiculous.

“The guy from the business! With the vampires? I helped you kill vampires? I’m Angel! We’ve met!” Angel walked up excitedly to introduce himself, just as cool and calm as if two different kinds of weaponry weren’t being aimed at him. 

“Angel.” The man said, eyes flickering off of his target for a second. He lowered his gun when he saw Angel’s face clearly. “At ease Dean, we’re all right.” His son, apparently named Dean, flinched as he lowered his gun and tried to shift his weight onto his bad knee. Wesley finally exhaled. 

“Don’t worry everybody, I know him! I’ve got this! Weren’t you trying to avenge your friend or something?” Angel asked, walking up and shaking the man’s hand. “How’d that go for you?”

“I um…” The man rubbed one of his eyes exhaustedly. He looked at Angel almost sheepishly. “I have to admit I wasn’t completely honest with you Angel.”

“I remember,” Angel smiled, “you told me you were CEO of that business and you were going to pay me a ton of money to clear out a vamp nest but then you turned out to be just some guy.” Angel said.

“I’m, um, my name’s John Winchester. This is my son Dean. I lied to you earlier because I wasn’t sure that I could trust a vamp, even one that supposedly had a soul. But you really came through in a tight spot. I’m a hunter.”

Gunn looked over at Angel in confusion,

“Should I be shooting anybody or are we good?” 

“We’re good!” Angel said, patting John on the back. “Come on, we’ll take you back to homebase, we can get your son’s knee patched up.”

“No dude, it’s fine…” Dean made a smug little expression and tried to take a few steps forward, but as soon as he put any weight on his left leg all the blood drained out of his face and he had to stop. 

“Don’t worry, we’ll help you.” Wesley said, jogging over to the younger man. “Come, take my shoulder.” 

“This. Fucking. Blows.” Dean Winchester hissed through gritted teeth as he grabbed on to the dark haired Englishman’s shoulder. Papa Winchester and Angel were already walking ahead, talking to one another about rugged heroic things like rescuing the innocent from demons and whatnot. Dean looked over at his companion, who looked less like a hunter and more like a librarian. “Tell me we don’t have a long walk. Do we?”

“Ummm… I’m going to choose not to answer that so you don’t try to shoot us again.” Charles Gunn said, helping support Dean from the other side. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean muttered, and they started the trudge.

At the hotel Cordelia was doing some online shopping whilst talking on the phone to a problematic customer.

“Mmm hmm.” She said, trying (and failing) to sound like she cared while she scrolled through some really cute tights that matched her new purple mini-skirt perfectly and weren’t really that much of a splurge because they’re totally practical right? 

“Yeah, I’ll bet that would be a really memorable graduation party but we don’t just purposefully put ghosts in people’s houses sir.” Cordy replied. “Why not? Have you ever had a ghost? I didn’t think so, well, let me tell you buddy, they may sound all nice and cute and protective and helpful to have in your apartment but they can be a pain in the rear end. There’s cold spots, and it’s really awkward to explain to dates and… Hello?” Cordy gasped and looked at the phone.

“He hung up on me! What a jerk.” Cordy groaned and slammed the phone back into the receiver as her green skinned and garishly dressed buddy walked through the lobby, cradling little baby Connor in his arms.

“Someone hung up on you sweetie pie? Well it’s his loss, people just have no manners these days.” Lorne said in his friendly but sometimes disconcertingly insincere manner. “Hey hon can you take care of the little half-pint for me for a while? I haven’t been to the gym much in the past, ever, so my arms are getting a wee bit achey.” 

“Of course!” Cordy reached her arms out cheerfully. Taking care of Connor had made working for Angel Investigations that much better. Sure, he could be a screaming pooping little ball of energy suck, but Angel Investigations took the “It takes a village to raise a vampire spawned miracle baby” adage very seriously. 

The door to Angel investigations opened, and the returning heroes stepped inside. 

“Look baby! Daddy’s home!” Cordelia smiled, turning Connor around so he could see. As she did so she noticed the two additional men that were tagging along with the team. “with… friends?” She added, checking out the way that the younger guy’s jeans fit his frame just right. “Oh please God let them be friends.” She noted to herself. Fred stepped out of Angel’s office to see what was up, and Cordelia passed the baby over to her like a hot potato.

“Are y’all ok?” Fred asked, cuddling baby Connor and looking up at Charles Gunn worriedly. 

“We’re fine. Our friends might need some help though…” Angel said.

“friends!” Cordy whispered triumphantly, opening the drawer with the first aid kit. 

“Don’t worry.” John Winchester said, crouching down and examining his son’s knee. “We’ve seen worse. Haven’t we Dean?” He said, looking up at his son who was sweating a little bit and breathing heavily. Dean smiled shakily.

“Oh hell yeah.” Dean agreed. 

“Oh wow, you’ve seen a lot of stuff huh? Must be tough.” Cordy couldn’t help the sarcasm overwhelming her tone. Angel glared at her for a second, and she pulled out the first aid kit with her broad not my fault smile.

John Winchester popped the disc of Dean’s knee over from the side where it had been displaced back to its proper location. Fred and Wesley flinched, Charles shrugged, and Cordelia, um…

“Wow.” Cordelia breathed, looking at the two new guys and fanning herself with a packet of Band-Aids. 

Dean, no longer distracted by pain, was able to pay more attention to his surroundings. He stared up at the fancy chandelier. 

“Nice hotel!” He commented, looking over at the hot brunette chick with the first aid kit and smiling winningly. “Dad, we should stay places like this more often. I could get used to this.” 

“Hush Dean.” John said, and Dean hushed. 

Lorne walked into the room to see what the excitement was about, and both Winchester men stopped what they were doing and gaped at the green, horned demon in shock.

“Um, hiya fellas.” Lorne said. “How’s it hanging?” 

There was a moment of tense silence, and then John Winchester sprang up from the ground and sprinted towards Lorne with purpose. Lorne had time to squeak in terror but it was too late, John was on him before Angel was halfway across the room. Before Angel could stop him John forcefully threw a handful of something in Lorne’s face, making him cough.

Angel managed to grab both of John’s arms and hold them behind his back, wrenching him away from the friendly demon. John didn’t put up much of a struggle, staring instead at Lorne’s face like he was curious for the reaction. Lorne made a face and shook himself off. He took some of the white stuff on his finger and tasted it.

“Salt? You salted me? You A-salted me I guess, ha!” Lorne chuckled at his joke. Every single person in the room stared at him blankly, in awkward silence. “I guess now’s not the time for excellent comedy.” He huffed, brushing some lingering salt crystals from the folds of his suit.

“You’re a demon?!” John asked Lorne, using his characteristic Winchester powers of observation. He looked back at Angel who still had his arms in a vice lock, “You work with demons?” 

“Oh hon, I’m not the kind of demon that can’t handle a little bit of salt. I’m an alternate hell dimension demon.” Lorne said thoughtfully. “Less ‘possession of innocents’, more ‘Karaoke and good times.’”

“And he’s very nice!” Fred pointed out from behind the reception desk.

“Yes! I’m VERY nice!” Lorne agreed. “So don’t kill me, ok?”

“Lorne’s good, he’s on our side.” Angel said. “Things are a little more gray-area in LA than from what you’re used to, I’ll bet.”

Angel let John go (across the room, Dean took his hand off the holster of his gun) and the man shook himself off. 

“There’re good demons?” He asked. 

“Welcome to LA bud.” Lorne said with a shrug. “Now that I’m properly seasoned, let me make you a drink.” 

Once the Winchesters were settled with beverages, (John asked for a whisky, neat, and Dean had after a couple of seconds thought, got the exact same thing.) Cordelia and Fred took the opportunity to try to make them feel welcome. Pulling up chairs, they joined the two of them in the lobby.

“So you’re hunters?” Fred asked tilting her head a little bit with a smile and bouncing Connor on her knee.

“That’s right.” John said. Dean smiled at the baby and looked up at Fred.

“He yours?” He asked with such a clear, open smile that Fred couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“Oh no,” she said, “Connor is Angel’s son.” 

“Can I hold him?” Dean asked hopefully. 

“Sure!” Fred said, lifting the baby up and handing him over to Dean, who took him up with a careful confidence that surprised her. Once in Dean’s arms Connor stopped fussing, and he started making those sweet little cooing baby noises as he looked around his surroundings. Dean smiled down at him.

“He’s a little champ isn’t he?” He said.

“I think he’s taking to you!” Fred said.

“That’s Angel’s baby?” John Winchester asked, expression clouding. “How is that possible? What’s dead can’t beget life.”

“Can’t baguette what?” Dean asked.

“Shh Dean.” John muttered.

“You know as much as we do.” Cordy shrugged, meeting John’s dubious expression with her own confident smirk. “He’s an impossible child. But so far he seems to be pretty human and average.” 

“He’s a champ, like I said.” Dean smiled. Connor buzzed his lips together, making a whining noise and spitting a bit. Dean just laughed. Cordelia was having a hard time keeping her emotions in check, watching this darling man right out of Daytime Television take care of a BABY. And his father, he looked like something off of a prime time drama. LA was where these two belonged. Even Fred was making doe eyes at them, er, well, more doe eyes than usual, and she was pretty damn doe eyed just in general. Dean laughed as Connor kept wiggling around, fighting his inevitable nap, “He’s like another little Sammy, isn’t he Dad? Back before he sprouted up into Gigantor?” 

“He’s a monster.” John said staring down at the child grimly. Dean looked up in concern. “Kid born from a vampire,” John elaborated, “can’t lead to anything good.” 

Cordelia’s brow darkened. The dude may look like was on a Prime Time Drama (or a romantic comedy, she couldn’t decide) but even ridiculous good looks can’t save you from a Cordelia Chase smack down. Not when you deserve it. 

“Angel’s good. We’re good. And we’re going to take such good care of Connor and love him so much that he grows up good too, got it?” She said, and her tone was unmistakably set. 

John looked up at Cordelia, and his expression was almost sad. Dean held the baby a little bit closer, jogging him up and down a little bit to settle him.

“It can be… more complicated than that. Parenting, I mean.” John said, rubbing his forehead. He stood up. “You mind if… can I use your phone?” 

“Sure Mr. Winchester.” Fred said with a smile, standing up with him. “It’s right over here.” The slender, sweet Texan led him over to Angel’s office.

“What, you letting hunter boy hold the baby?” Charles Gunn said, wandering out from one of the rooms where he’d been showering some of the grime off and walking over to Cordelia and Dean. “Where’s Fred?”

“Just left for a second.” Cordelia told Gunn, then she looked over at Dean, leaning forward with interest. “Who’s Sammy?” She asked. Dean didn’t answer. His expression changed; he looked almost guilty. 

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce emerged from his office carrying a large text.

“Hullo Cordelia, Gunn.” He nodded to his friends. He looked around subtly. “Where’s, um, what’s Fred up to?” He asked, and his voice was softer, almost tender as he said the woman’s name. 

“She’s off helping Dean’s dad find a phone, and jiminy crickets isn’t anybody happy to see just me anymore?” Cordy asked indignantly, looking up at her two male friends. Dean snickered.

Wesley adjusted his glasses and tried to backstep, “Oh um, of course we’re happy to see you, Cordelia! You’re um, looking lovely today…” 

“Shut up. She’s over there.” Cordy rolled her eyes as both both Gunn and Wesley trotted over to where they saw Fred emerging from Angel’s office. 

“She’s cute, but she’s not like, THAT cute.” Dean said, looking at the two tall men both try to command the attention of the shy, delicate white girl.

“Right?! Does she give off a pheromone or something?” Cordy sighed. “Anyway,” She turned her attention back to Dean. “You didn’t answer my question, who’s Sammy?”

“Oh. Um.” Dean looked down at the baby in his arms. “He’s uh, my kid brother.” 

“Oh! You have a brother!” Cordelia smiled her big white toothy grin that had won her so many admirers back before she was a magical celibate freakshow. “How old is he?” 

“He’s 19.” Dean replied. 

“So not much of a baby anymore I guess!” Cordelia joked. 

“Yeah I… I mean, you watch the guy grow up it’s hard to believe he’s like, a grown ass dude sometimes.” Dean shrugged, forgetting to try to look cool. 

“Where is he now? Sammy?” Cordy asked, scooting a little bit closer to Dean.

“Sam uh,” Dean cleared his throat, and his expression hardened. His eyes looked grim and disappointed. “He left.”

“Left?” Cordy asked.

“He got a full ride to Stanford and he left.” Dean was still looking at the baby but his previously soft and warm expression had been replaced by an expression of bitter resignation.

“Here, I’ll take back Connor from you.” Cordy said, and she could have sworn she saw a little hint of reluctance in Dean’s eyes as he handed the child off to her. “And hey, congrats to Sam for getting a full ride to Stanford! That’s not an easy thing to do!”

“DEAN.” John’s voice was sharp and harsh, addressing his son from the other room. Dean stiffened, looking like nothing but a little soldier, face blank, posture rigid. “You want to come help us over here? Wesley thinks he’s found something about that monster tearing up Albuqurque.”

“I think it’s a wendigo!” Fred exclaimed, sounding as cheerful and excited as though she was announcing that she had an entire bag of Oreos in her purse. Wesley stared at her in kind of dumb admiration, and Gunn smiled broadly at her. John was off to the side of the love fest, looking pointedly at his child.

Dean nodded and stood up to go help his dad. Cordy watched him, letting Connor fall asleep as he lay on her shoulder, noticing that the tanned young dude in flannel and jeans was still walking with a little bit of a limp, but was trying to hide it. Poor kid. She thought.


	2. The Hotel

That night Angel offered to let John and his son stay in the hotel, so for once they didn’t have to keep racking up all that credit card fraud that was basically their bread and butter.

The room was huge compared to where they usually stayed, decorated in the deep earthy tones that used to be the signature of luxury hotels. As Dean dropped his bag and got settled on his queen size red bed he took in some of the décor. 

“Nice digs huh?” He asked his dad with a low whistle. “Maybe we should start charging for our services like they do.”

John looked around at their surroundings with less admiration. 

“They’ve got a bad mold problem, most of the furniture is 50 years old, and there’s lead paint on every window frame in the place.” He grumbled. “Plus, Angel told me there was a horrible poltergeist here for something like a century, so really we might be better off at a Day’s Inn.”

“Mold?” Dean asked, sniffing the air dubiously. “Crap.” 

“And you want to get paid for this, kid?” John asked, “Ok, next little old lady we save from a spectre, you tell her how much to chalk up.” He huffed dismissively, tossing his travel bag of stuff down on his bed. 

“Hey, what’s she spending her money on? LifeAlert? We gotta eat!” Dean joked. 

“We don’t do things like they do Dean.” John said, tone serious. He dug through his bag with a little irritation, looking for his goddamn toothbrush. 

“I know Dad, don’t worry.” Dean said soothingly, watching his father’s overreaction. He stretched out on the bed, shutting his eyes. “Our way’s good enough for me.” 

The next morning Dean stumbled down the velvety carpeted stairs, half asleep, in search of breakfast. It wasn’t until his bare feet stepped on to the cold linoleum of the first floor that he remembered, unlike the motels in which he was raised, this wasn’t a place where people actually stayed. Thus, no continental breakfast. Not even a pop tart. 

He contemplated making a hasty retreat back upstairs when Angel emerged from behind the counter, clad only in boxers and one of those little cloths that you need for baby spit up. Connor was fussing on his shoulder, making that whiny noise that means that a burp is imminent, but elusive.   
Dean flushed.

“I’m sorry! Did we wake you?” Angel asked, eyes wide and apologetic and ever so slightly sleep deprived.

“No no no, just uh, I was just thinking about breakfast.” Dean said with a smile. 

“Oh!” Angel looked around, “I think we’ve got some stuff in the fridge…” he hefted his child to one shoulder and opened the little mini fridge behind the desk, revealing the sadly glowing white interior of a mostly empty refrigerator, containing nothing but an empty and open tupperware container and a couple bags of blood. “Well, we’ve got a lot of pig’s blood if that tempts you.” Angel said sheepishly. “Geez, Fred can really tear through some snacks.” 

“Tempting, but uh.. no thanks.” Dean replied, contemplating for a moment that the hospitable man in front of him was actually an undead creature of bloody nightmares. It was a funny old world. “How’s the little guy doing?”

“Oh you know.” Angel sighed. “He used to be able to sleep through the night but lately it’s been like, maybe three hours at a time? If I’m lucky.” He shrugged in resignation and gave a tired half smile. “I guess it’s all part of the deal right?” 

“Guess so.” Dean smiled.

“Hey! I was meaning to ask you,” Angel perked up as he continued, “today Gunn and me were going to go take out a ghost… what did your dad call it… a white lady?” 

“Woman in white.” Dean corrected. “You’ve never ganked a woman in white before?” 

“I… I don’t understand what ganked means. Anyway, I was going to go take care of it but your dad tells me you’re pretty good at taking out ghosts.” 

Dean crossed his arms and smiled kind of smugly, 

“I’m not bad.” 

“Well then, if you don’t mind, Connor’s been kind of sick lately and I thought I could stay in with him if you and Gunn went out and took care of the white… woman, thing. I’d pay you!” 

“Dude I was in at ‘white lady’!” Dean laughed. “I still, I mean, I don’t mind getting paid though.” He clarified, shifting his feet. He’d been saving up to buy a leather jacket like the one his dad wore, and a little extra cash here and there was kind of necessary. 

“Sure, no problem.” Angel agreed. “Sure you don’t want any pig’s blood? It’s nice and cold!” Angel laughed.

“Gross dude.” Dean muttered. 

He ended up meeting with Gunn and Fred for breakfast at this diner down the street from Angel’s office. Dean and Fred had a pancake for pancake eating competition, which Dean won (barely) but immediately regretted when he remembered that he was probably going to have to dig up a grave today. Gunn teased Fred for how skinny she was while pouring her syrup for her, and she giggled sweetly back at him between bites of thick sliced bacon. When it was time for Gunn to split off with Dean to go find the WIW, Fred kept lingering and finding reasons to stick around before she reluctantly tore herself away to go to work. Dean was pretty sure that if those two weren’t banging already, it couldn’t be long now.

Gunn took Dean over to his truck, an absurdly huge piece of crap with lights on top and a muffler that was noisily clinging to life. 

“Nice truck man.” Dean said, grunting as he climbed up into the passenger’s seat. “Do you like, jump it over shit at arenas?” 

“Shut it, not everybody can afford fancy ass 1967 Impala, tough guy. You blow somebody at a vintage car show or something?” 

“Hey, I don’t ask what Dad does in his free time.” Dean smirked. Gunn laughed and turned the key in the ignition, bringing the engine, coughing and sputtering reluctantly, to life. 

“Well, time to go burn some human remains.” 

“That’s the idea.” Dean agreed, and they drove off.

Angel Investigations was never the calmest of office environments, and with a crying baby, a tipsy Lorne, a PMSing Cordy, and an overtired Angel, they weren’t exactly putting their best foot forward. Sitting behind the counter taking sips of his not very good coffee, John made a mental note of at least 8 wildly unprofessional outbursts, 6 customers who were treated unsatisfactorily, and 3 workplace conduct violations that could justify a lawsuit. They interacted less like a group of professionals than like a dysfunctional family. Which was a dynamic John knew a little something about. 

“Wesley, I’m sure you’re familiar with the Gruenth demon?” Cordelia asked dangerously, peeking above the cover of a dusty old text. The two of them were sitting across from one another at an office table, trying to do some research.

“Why, yes,” Wesley looked up curiously. “It rips out the tongues of its victims before disemboweling them. But…” he paused his encyclopedic explanation, confused, “why are you looking at the Gruenth demon when we’re meant to be looking for the…”

“See Wes,” Cordy cut him off, and her tone had the forced nicety of a postal worker about to snap. “if you don’t stop muttering under your breath while you translate, I’m gonna summon one, and then we’ll finally have some peace and quiet.” She hissed. 

Wesley sputtered for a second before settling back in his chair grumpily. “Well, I’m sure even with my tongue ripped out I’d make a lot of noise while being disemboweled.” He sulked logically.

“Only for a little while Wesley. Only for a very short while.” Cordelia responded, looking back at her book and rubbing her forehead in irritation. 

John smiled to himself and pretended to be interested in something on the computer. He wasn’t of course, the internet had always struck him as vaguely demonic and he didn’t even have an email address. Listening to Wesley and Cordelia reminded him of the conversations he used to overhear between Sam and Dean. Like when Dean had stolen an entire box of what he thought were m&ms from a convenience store, only to be brutally teased by Sam when they turned out to be sunflower seeds. Dean had, with glorious spite, eaten every last sunflower seed in that box to prove a point, spitting the shells at or near Sam and his stuff for the next three weeks. Every time Sam found a shell he radiated irritation, you could feel his disgruntled sigh from thirty yards. John had stepped in after the third brotherly wrestling match failed to solve the problem. 

Boys.

Angel walked downstairs looking tired but triumphant.

“He’s asleep! I got Connor to fall asleep!” He announced, with the same pride a person would announce like, getting a job, or in their circles, figuring out what kind of hex had been placed on that innocent old lady. 

Nobody responded. Wesley continued translating (moving his lips but not making any noise) Cordelia continued glaring daggers at Wesley and not paying attention to the text in front of her, and Lorne appeared to be taking a nap. 

“good job Angel!” Angel faux congratulated himself, under his breath, “you’re a great dad! You’re going to raise a great kid! Why thank you everyone!” He responded to himself. “You’re too kind! I couldn’t have done it without your unwavering support!” 

“He’s probably gonna start fussing in about 10 minutes.” John warned, looking up from the computer. “Let it pass, he’ll knock himself out if you just let him be. You got a monitor?” 

Angel walked over to John sheepishly running his hand through his hair. 

“I’ve got uh, Vampire hearing?” He said. 

“Oh… yeah.” John and Angel stared at one another for a couple awkward seconds. 

“sooo…” Angel looked at John curiously. “You and Dean… you hunt monsters together?”

“Dean’s got a knack for it.” John said, turning away from the computer and smiling proudly. “You know he bagged his first poltergeist when he was 8? All by himself!” 

“Wow! Isn’t that dangerous?” Angel asked in disbelief. If a poltergeist went anywhere near his baby he’d smoke that undead bastard, no question. 

“You know, you worry.” John said, expression hardening. “You always worry. But that’s why you’ve gotta prepare them you know? Because you can’t be there to protect them all the time. They’ve gotta know what’s out there.” 

“But…” Angel stared at the scruffy man sitting in his office chair, dressed in worn jeans and a leather jacket, looking like a real tough guy. “But isn’t that the job? To protect him?” 

John Winchester looked up, and for just a second he looked unspeakably sad. 

“I wish it was that easy.” He said, and he turned back to the computer. 

Angel heard (although he knew nobody else could) the beginnings of a whine come from Connor’s room. John would tell him not to bother checking, he’d be fine. He rapped his fingers on the edge of his desk for a second, then turned to head back upstairs to tend his child. Someday Connor would have to face this cruel world all on his own. But he wasn’t there yet, and as long as Angel could take care of him, he was going to do just that. 

Charles Gunn could have sworn that Dean had been with him a second ago, picking their way through this creepy as hell wooded area to where Wesley had told them the bones of Ella Rowan were buried. 

“Dean?” He asked, changing his grip on his shovel and looking around the woods. He couldn’t see more than a few feet because of a thick mist that had descended so subtly he hadn’t even noticed. He shivered, the mist had a chill to it, which, come to think of it, didn’t make any sense because they were in LA and it was the middle of the goddamn afternoon. 

“Shit.” Gunn said, suddenly pissed. “BITCH. SHOW YOUR DAMN SELF.” He gripped his shovel tightly and looked around with narrowed eyes.

A frozen hand gripped his shoulder with unnatural strength. 

“FUCK!” He shouted as he turned around. A woman stood in front of him, a beautiful woman with pale skin and a torn dress that revealed just enough of her breasts to keep your eyes where she wanted them. 

“Help me.” She asked with a waver, looking up at him with big dark eyes that looked both mysterious and pained. “I need you.” 

Gunn was unconvinced.

“You need me to set you on fire is what you need.” He said, swinging his iron shovel like a baseball bat right into the side of her ghostly head. She disappeared into the mist then with a whoosh, screeching like a stray cat as the iron sent her back into incorporeality for a little while.

“Shit, did you hear that?” Gunn heard Dean yell, a little ways off.

“Hear it? I killed it!” Gunn responded. “You find those bones yet? That was kind of too close for comfort.” 

“Yeah, help me dig!” Dean shouted. “She’s gonna come back in like, three minutes and she’s gonna be pissed.” 

“Goddamn it.” Gunn muttered as he ran up to Dean. The youngish white guy was already a few feet into the ground, exhuming competently a nicely shaped hole in the ground. “You do this professionally or something?” Gunn asked with a teasing tone as Dean threw another full shovel of dirt over his shoulder nonchalantly. 

“Feels like it sometimes.” Dean said with an irritated smirk. “Help me out!” 

Gunn helped out as best he could, but no matter how fast he shoveled Dean’s side just looked nicer and came along more quickly. This dude had dug up some graves in his time. The mist got thicker, and the temperature started to drop again.

“She’s coming back.” Gunn said, digging as fast as he could.

“Yeah, dude, I got that, keep going!” Dean muttered, but as soon as the words were out of his mouth there was a shrieking noise and the woman in white appeared with a whoosh right behind Gunn.

“YOU. HURT. ME.” She hissed, and she grabbed Gunn’s shoulders and threw him hard into a tree, as easily as if he weighed three pounds. 

Dean fumbled, trying to grab his gun with the salted bullets, but before he knew it he’d been thrown flat down on his back with such force that all of the air got knocked out of his lungs. He coughed, trying desperately to catch his breath, but an ethereal force pinned him down. A pair of tortured black eyes stared at him and hands so cold they burned clawed the sides of his face.

“He. Hurt. Me.” The ghost said, and Dean was coughing and struggling, trying futilely to fight her off. 

“GUNN!?” He yelled. “LITTLE HELP!?”

“ON IT!” He heard the flick of a lighter, and all of a sudden the frighteningly lovely eyes so near to Dean’s widened in surprise.

“No…” The woman in white said, “NO!” She was thrown back, shrieking, scorched by a ghostly fire that grew up from nowhere. Dean couldn’t feel it, but he flinched away from the flames instinctively as he scrambled away from his attacker. 

Gunn looked up from the newly opened grave, breathing heavily.

“You ok?” He asked. Once Dean nodded in response he tilted his head. “Was she… was she making out with you?”

“I… what? No! dude!” Dean protested, touching the side of his face where her hands had cut into him.

“Because she was all up on you.” Gunn said, smiling wickedly. “She was on your ass like it was candy” 

“I... my ass isn’t…” Dean scowled. “Shut the fuck up.” 

But Gunn was laughing too hard to care at that point. 

When Dean and Gunn strode back into the hotel a few hours later they found everything pretty much exactly as they left it. 

“Anybody got any love for the returning conquerors?” Gunn called out, forcing the staff of Angel investigations to drag their attention away from whatever it was they were doing and acknowledge their return. 

Cordelia just rolled her eyes, said “Good job” and then looked back at her fashion magazine. Fred sprang to her feet and ran over to Gunn.

“Charles, are you all right?” She asked, concerned, brushing some of the dirt off of his t-shirt. Across the room, Wesley seemed to be unable to look at the pages in front of him, eyes glued to the back of Fred’s preoccupied head. Dean noticed, and felt a pang of pity for the scruffy little English dude. 

“Charles is being a big baby.” Dean said dismissively, slinging the shovel over his shoulder and posing like a communist propaganda depiction of “the working man.” 

“Ain’t a damn thing wrong with being babied every once in a while.” Gunn said, smiling at Fred, who was cooing and fussing over his injuries. “Anyway, you already got your TLC from that ghost.”

“I… shut up.” Dean muttered.

“I’ll stop mentioning that just as soon as it stops being hilarious.” Gunn grinned. 

Dean shook his head exasperatedly, but he couldn’t help but smile back. Gunn was an all right dude. 

“Do you curl your eyelashes?” Cordelia asked out of nowhere, looking at Dean with a dreamy expression on her face. Dean flinched and Gunn started cracking up again.

“No! What!?” Dean flushed, embarrassed, making a futile effort to look at his own eyelashes. 

“I just… I’ve never seen eyelashes as perfect as your before. And I hang out with male models.” Cordelia boasted. Gunn, Wesley, and Fred all gave her the exact same dubious expression. Cordelia tried again. “I know male models?” Wesley shook his head slowly. “I’ve… sat across from male models at casting calls.” She finally admitted, ashamedly looking back towards her magazine. 

“You do have particularly lovely eyelashes.” Fred said. Dean cringed, and she looked apologetic. “I mean manly.” Fred lied empathetically. “You have rugged, manly eyelashes.” 

There was really no way to respond to that, so Dean just made his escape with an intent to patch up his wounded face and wounded ego. 

Angel told the Winchesters that they were welcome to stay as long as they wanted, and John had agreed to stay one more night for Dean to recuperate before they headed off in the Impala again. The whole gang had eaten Chinese takeout for dinner, and chilled out afterwards. Dean had a really good time singing Pink Floyd for Lorne, who told him that his voice was as terrible as his soul was good, which Dean figured was a bunch of bullshit but was nice to hear anyway. Cheerfully buzzed from a couple of beers, he hummed as he walked inside the lobby, finding his father sitting next to the phone. 

“Hey Dad! Who you calling?” Dean asked. 

“Oh! Um, nobody. Nothing to worry about.” John Winchester jumped at the sound of his son’s voice and Dean didn’t have to ask to know that he wasn’t going to get any more information about the call. The lobby was dark and empty, everybody else having gone home or off to bed, and the Winchesters had the room to themselves. A thought had been nagging at Dean the entire time they’d been in LA, and he stood in front of his father, torn as to whether he should vocalize it or just shut up. 

“Dad?” He asked, feeling way more nervous than he had with a crazy ghost straddling him earlier that day. His palms were fucking sweating. 

“Yeah son?” John said, and Dean could tell from his tone that this wasn’t going to go well. It was too late now though.

“I was just thinking, you know, since we’re in California, maybe, we could… you know.” He lost his nerve and stared down at the floor, but he forced himself to finish it. “I mean, Stanford’s only six hours away.” 

John Winchester’s expression clouded. He turned slowly towards his son, as imposing as a brick fucking wall. 

“Dean, we’ve talked about this.”

“It’s just, I haven’t talked to him in a year, you know?” Dean forced himself to make eye contact with his father, hating how pathetic he sounded. “And we’re hardly ever this close by, I don’t know why we can’t just see how he’s doing…”

“Just swing by huh? Drive six hours out of our way so we can see the guy who made it very clear he doesn’t give a goddamn about us.” His father’s tone was mocking, sarcastic. 

“He…” The words stung, and Dean looked down again. “I just want to make sure he’s ok.” He admitted. It was almost true. He also wanted to talk to Sam. He wanted to make fun of him for whatever dumb thing he done to his hair now. He wanted to make some bad joke or something and get him to make that exasperated face that he made. He wanted his brother back. 

“Dean.” John Winchester was furious now, Dean could tell from the way he said his name. He spoke with a frightening, growled intensity. “There’s a monster tearing people’s throats out in Albuquerque right now. In the oh, day it would take us to have a little chit chat with your brother three more people will die. This isn’t a fucking joke Dean. Sam’s made his choice, he’s given up. We can still help people.” He threw his hands up. “Unless you want to leave me too.” 

“Dad…” Dean rubbed his forehead, regretting ever mentioning it. 

“No, please tell me if that’s what you want. I mean, your mother’s been dead a long time, I get it…” 

“Dad. I’m not going to leave you. I would never. Sir.” Dean took a deep breath and regained the kind of military tone he knew calmed his dad down. He’d figured that trick out since he was about seven. 

“I’m going to bed.” John Winchester growled, and stormed away upstairs, leaving his son alone in the dark hotel lobby.

Or at least he thought he was alone.

“Dean?” A somewhat breathy English voice made Dean jump about three feet in the air. Wesley Wyndham-Pryce stood in the doorway of his office, where the conversation he’d just overheard had distracted him from trying to figure out if he’d been translating a text left to right instead of right to left. 

Dean glanced over at the Englishman, burning in shame. He gritted his teeth and narrowed his eyes in a show of defiant toughness. 

“Would you like a drink?” Wesley suggested helpfully, holding up a bottle of pretty nice scotch he kept in his office to feel fancy. 

Dean eyed the bottle, nodded, and cautiously followed Wesley into his office. 

Wesley offered Dean a chair, and poured out two tumblers of the Scotch. 

“You must miss your brother very much.” He asked gently, handing Dean his tumbler and toasting him. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Dean muttered, taking a grim sip of the beverage offered. 

“Yes yes of course. Of course.” Wesley responded apologetically. “I just…” Wesley adjusted his glasses, and looked at Dean with concern. “Well I suppose… I just want you to know that you’re in the right.” 

“What?” Dean asked, with irritation.

“I mean… I heard the whole thing. You want to visit your brother, yes?” 

“I don’t think it’s any of your damn business…” Dean said, puffing up defensively. His tone had a note of warning in it. Wesley sighed.

“Your father is very intimidating and all that, but that doesn’t mean he’s always right.” 

Dean looked up at Wesley uncomprehendingly. Wesley continued.

“I spent my entire youth trying to make my equally intimidating father happy.” Wesley admitted, “I wasn’t always this, erm,” Wesley tried and failed to gesture at his entire, newly rugged self. “Well to be perfectly frank I used to be a bit of an ass.” He finally admitted. “I did everything he wanted me to, and I did it well, but I wasn’t happy. And God knows he wasn’t happy either. Its just, I idolized him, you see? And he didn’t deserve it. He was wrong. And…I suspect, your father is wrong in this instance as well.” Wesley looked almost sheepish. “I just want you to know that he can be.” 

Dean stood up and leaned against the side of Wesley’s desk, next to him. 

“You don’t know my dad.” Dean said coldly. 

“I think I’ve seen enough.” Wesley muttered, taking a sip.

“You know how many people my dad has saved?” Dean asked, with the knee-jerk manic defensiveness of the desperate. “He’s a friggin’ hero!”

“I don’t doubt that for an instant Dean.” Wesley said gently. “But you have every right to see your brother.”

Dean settled back into the desk, looking thoughtful and sad. “I do…” He glanced up nervously, looking back over his shoulder to make sure no-one could hear. “I do miss Sammy. A lot.” Dean admitted. “I wish he wasn’t such a stubborn asshole. I wish they BOTH weren’t such stubborn assholes.” 

“It must be very difficult for you.” Wesley said, and he met Dean’s eyes, his expression sweetly sympathetic. 

Dean stared straight back at Wesley for several long seconds. He looked strange, a few moments before he’d been frustrated and defensive but now there was a look in Dean’s eyes that Wesley couldn’t quite figure out. Dean finished off his scotch in a swig, and Wesley couldn’t tell if his face was red from the drink or from embarrassment. For a few moments they sat in silence, but there was a tension in the room that hadn’t been there before. As Wesley was trying to determine what was going on, Dean, unexpectedly, tilted his head forward ever so slightly in a way that suggested only one thing. Wesley jumped back, stunned.

“I…” he sputtered, “I’m not…” He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘gay’ although that seemed to be the only logical reaction after a man has just tried to kiss you. 

For just a second Dean looked wholly and utterly mortified. He slammed his tumbler down on Wesley’s desk and when he looked up he was surly, macho, but he couldn’t stop his cheeks from flushing. He narrowed his eyes and grabbed the front of Wesley’s shirt, aggressively.

“If you tell anybody about this, I will fucking kill you.” He growled, then shoved the man away and stomped out of the office. Wesley watched the young man flee upstairs, heart pounding, incredibly embarrassed. He thought of Dean’s ex-marine father with something to prove and shook his head sympathetically.

“Poor young man.” He muttered. “That poor young man.”


	3. The University

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks all! I've been fooling around with this for a while and appreciate the few crossover Angel and Supernatural fans willing to read it.

Cordelia’s dead roommate, Ghost Dennis, was an excellent listener. To be fair, this was partially because he couldn’t exactly speak (no vocal chords) and so at best his responses could only be expressed via rattling walls or moving around furniture. Cordelia, he had discovered, could be verbose enough for the both of them. 

“I TRY to like Fred you know?” Cordelia said, standing in her dressing gown in the kitchen and tossing another handful of blueberries into her blended fruit smoothie. “It’s just like, as soon as she joined the group everybody with a penis was freaking in love with her because she’s all shy… and giggly… and weird…” She turned the blender on absently without putting on the lid, but Dennis slammed it into place before it made a mess. “Thanks Dennis.” She said. “And it’s not like I’m jealous, because, seriously, my coworkers? Gross.”

She finished blending her healthful smoothie (in which she had thrown a couple of chocolate chips because, c’mon, you only live once) and poured it into a large glass, but she kept up her train of thought. “But it’s just frustrating because like, is that what you have to do to get a dude? Be this cute little not intimidating wet dream? Because fuck that. I’m Cordelia Chase.” Dennis turned the lights on in the living room for her in agreement as she swept out of the kitchen and into the next room. “I might say some shit that you don’t like, but I’m real talk.” She sank down into her couch with a sigh. Dennis moved a book around on the coffee table. “Aww, thanks Dennis.” She said. “I’m glad you agree.” Cordelia smiled pleasantly in a way that would have made Dennis’s heart race, if he still had one.

Her phone started to ring, (she had set her ring tone to “Complicated” by Avril Lavigne, a personal favorite) and she picked it up absently. The screen read “Wesley”

“Oh, and if it isn’t loverboy now.” She rolled her eyes and flipped her phone open. “What’s up Wes?”

“Yes, sorry to call so late…” Wesley was still at his office. He’d been unable to focus on the translations after his conversation with Dean. “I was wondering if you would do me a favor…”

The next morning Angel was so tired that he very nearly put his own morning blood in his baby’s bottle, which, as he anxiously rinsed the ridged plastic edges of the bottle out with manic thoroughness, he figured was something that probably warranted a call to child protective services. Connor, somehow, even with barely any sleep at all, was bobbling around happy as anything in his high chair. Angel watched with deep dark circles under his vampire eyes, in awe.

Cordelia flounced into the hotel kitchen, looking like a well rested million bucks. 

“Hey precious!” She greeted Connor with a broad happy smile. “And how’s daddy doing?” Her face fell as she saw Angel’s haggard expression. “Ooh daddy is not doing so hot, huh?

“Daddy’s fine.” Angel sighed, sitting down a little too heavily in a kitchen chair. “What are you doing here so…” he looked at his watch, “On time?” 

“Wesley called me last night with a plan and I told him I’d have to run it by you first. He wants me to tell John Winchester that I got a vision and saw Stanford College being being attacked by giant lizards.”

Angel blinked.

“Giant lizards?” He repeated.

“Ok he didn’t specify giant lizards in so many words, that was just my little idea, take it or leave it, but the gist is, he wants me to say that Stanford college is under attack so that Dean Winchester can go see his brother.”

This would have been a lot for Angel to take in at full mental capacity. As it was it took him a minute to sort through what Cordelia was saying.

“What? Why?”

“Apparently big Winchester disowned his younger kid for getting a full-ride to Stanford, because being super smart and getting free money is a bad thing to this family for some reason, and Dean was really close to his brother and misses him a lot. Wesley had this wacky idea that if I say that I had a vision that Sam’s in trouble, then daddy Winchester’s heart will grow three sizes and they’ll reunite and everything will be fine.”

Angel narrowed his eyes.

“I’m sorry, are we a supernatural detective agency slash family counseling group all of a sudden?”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say something like that” Cordelia signed in resignation, toying with the edge of a place mat. “Honestly, I don’t feel super comfortable lying about a vision. I feel like the Powers That Be won’t be too happy about that.”  
“I’m gonna bet you’re right on that one.” Angel agreed, rubbing some sleep out of his eyes.

Cordelia leaned forward, and her expression was earnest. “That said, I think Wesley’s coming from a good place here.” She reiterated.

Angel liked Cordelia when she was earnest. It reminded him of how far she had come from when they first met. Sometimes he thought she ought to be the leader of their little group, rather than him. She’d hate that though. He poured Connor some Cheerios on his high chair tray, which the baby immediately began to fling around the room.

“Ok, what happens when they get to Stanford and there are no giant lizards?” He asked.

“There don’t have to be any giant lizards, that was just, you know, an idea. I think we’re banking on just putting the three of them in the same place and they’ll figure out the rest.”

“I don’t know Cordy.” Angel said. Connor gleefully flung the Cheerios across the room, eating none of them and giggling. Angel knelt to pick up the pieces. “Family stuff is messy, and I think we’d be butting into a dynamic that we really don’t understand.”

Cordelia sighed.

“You’re probably right. I guess Wesley just felt bad for Dean. Apparently they had a long chat and sort of bonded last night. Wesley’s heart went out for him.”

“Well, what’s your instinct on this? I’m leaning towards a no.”

Cordelia bit her cheek and thought for a minute. She raised an eyebrow.

Dean Winchester yawned widely as he made his way down the stairs in search of breakfast. He was trying to figure out the best way to avoid Wesley while also finding somebody to join him for breakfast, when Cordelia appeared in front of him like an apparition. 

“Hey Dean, wanna go to Stanford?” She whispered, urgently.

“What?” Dean didn’t really have time to compute before Cordelia had steered him out the door, where Wesley Wyndam-Price was waiting in a car with the engine running.

“Road trip, buddy.” Cordy said, pushing Dean into the front seat with a happy smile. She climbed into the back. “Let’s roll!”

After a drive-through McDonald’s breakfast and about 45 minutes into L.A.’s ungodly traffic, Dean started to come to his senses.

“Dad is going to fucking kill me.” He said, looking over at Wesley who, in Dean’s opinion, could use a little bit more of an “aggressive” driving style for these traffic conditions.

“I certainly hope not.” Wesley said. “Angel’s planning on telling your father that Cordelia had one of her visions and you bravely offered to help. He doesn’t need to know where we went.”

Dean tapped his foot on the floor of the car with enough force that everyone could feel it. Wesley had been avoiding eye contact with him, making a point to stare mostly at the road, and at one point when their arms accidentally touched he had retracted it just a little bit quickly. Dean was sensitive to these things. He had been up last night for hours, flushing with shame every time he thought about what had happened. While Wesley spoke with a great deal of conviction and kindness, there was enough discomfort radiating from him to cut to the core of Dean’s being. He was having a hard time shoving those feelings down to his Winchester emotional detachment pit like he always did.

Cordelia didn’t pick up on the vibe.

“So is your brother as cute as you and your dad? Or is he all brains no brawn? I mean, I hope for his sake he’s good looking because if I had to drive around with you and your dad all the time and I looked like Willem Dafoe or something I’d probably kill myself.”

“Sam’s a good looking guy. Ladies like Sam.” Dean said brusquely, glancing at Wesley. “He’s really tall.”

“You guys have some crazy good genes. I say this to you as someone who is also blessed with great genes, so you know it means something.”

“Wow Cordelia, I’m truly humbled to be in your presence.” Wesley said. “As an individual with mere ‘average’ genes…”

“Honestly ‘average’ is pushing it for you, buddy’” Cordelia muttered.

“I am blessed to be in the presence of such gods.” 

“Well you’re welcome. You know I have noticed that once you started hanging out with us more you’ve let yourself get a little stubbly. You don’t look like half as much of a weenie as you used to.

“Ouch!” Dean said.

“No, that’s fair.” Wesley sighed. “Cordelia is harsh but fair.”

“You know Wesley used to hit on me when I was in high school…”

“OK LET’S CHANGE THE SUBJECT.” Wesley snapped, and Dean couldn’t help but laugh. 

The Stanford campus was full of young people who looked very smart and who were all walking very quickly and puposefully toward their destinations. Cordelia looked at all the youthful, semi-attractive faces and for a brief moment imagined what she would have been like as a college student. She didn’t have the grades for Stanford, but she could have gone to a community college like Buffy instead of trying to make it as an actress in LA. She remembered what it felt like, driving to the city and leaving all those losers behind, absolutely one hundred percent confident that she’d have at least a recurring role in a pepsodent commercial or something in the next three months. And now here she was, a half demon with no degree, a super weird job, and world saving visions. 

“Life is weird, huh?” She asked Wesley, aloud.

“Mmm?” Wesley had been trying to read a campus map, as though “Sam Winchester” would be labeled on it somewhere with a red star. 

“I don’t know how the hell we’re going to find him.” Dean rubbed his hands through his hair, staring at the crowds of students swarming the campus with alarm.

“Well, what kind of a guy is he?” Cordelia asked.

“Um, tall?” 

“No” Cordy rolled her eyes. “Like, is he more likely to be passed out on his frat bros couch cuddling an empty case of Natty light or is he gonna be volunteering for campus ministries?”

“Oh.” Dean’s brow furrowed, and he grabbed Wesley’s map. “Does it say where the library is? One with a computer lab.”

“All of the libraries have a computer lab.” Wesley said. “It’s 2002, Dean.” 

“Ok, we’ll check out the law library first, then we’ll go on from there.” 

Sam Winchester desperately wanted to go to the campus Starbucks and get a coffee, anything to help him focus on the history essay he was struggling to write. He had been up late the night before finishing the reading for his morning class, and now every time he started to write a sentence all he could think about was how hard it was to keep his eyes open. He’d been working for a half-hour and had written a total of half a sentence. But even though he’d got a full ride to Stanford and worked his ass off at a part time job as a receptionist in Campus Admissions, he didn’t have the kind of money he could throw away on three dollar coffee. He sighed and tried to focus again on the subject of the essay he was writing. It wasn’t due for a couple of weeks, but if he wanted to stick to his very strict schedule he needed to get at least two pages written this afternoon. 

There was some kind of commotion at the entrance of the library, three people who looked too old and weird to be students were ignoring campus library courtesy and bickering amongst themselves. That sort of shit might go by unnoticed in the undergrad “work space” down on the first floor but this was the fourth floor, populated by graduate students and the kind of undergrad who would slit your throat for a 4.0 grade point average. Sam looked up, ready to hit the newcomers with a bitchface they would not soon forget, but was surprised when he recognized one of the voices.

His older brother’s unmistakable gravelly voice was chatting with an extremely attractive brunette woman and older stubbly man who was not quite cool enough to pull off the leather jacket that he was wearing. They were all snapping at one another, clearly lost, until Dean looked up and made eye contact with his brother. 

“Sammy!” He said, loud enough that no less than six other students turned and shushed him at the same time. Dean held his hands up like “sorry!” and made an exaggerated motion to zip his lips. Sam felt the color rise in his face, and he turned back to his word document, distractedly saving it so he could deal with this unanticipated situation.

“Sammy?” Dean said again, more softly, walking up to his partitioned computer in the lab. “What’s up man? I wanted to say hi!” 

“My name is Sam.” Sam said, and it came out more angrily than he meant. He could see the hurt in Dean’s eyes, and braced himself for a scene. He brusquely logged out of the school computer and stood up and started to gather his things together. He was so distracted he almost stuffed a bunch of unchecked out library books into his bag. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“I told you, I just wanted to say hi.” Dean’s voice was cooler now too, as he tried to diffuse the situation. Both of them started walking towards the elevator, and they fell into step with each other subconsciously. Sam aggressively pressed the “down” button, and the brothers waited tensely and silently for the doors to open. Dean’s two companions crept alongside them awkwardly.

“Hello! I’m Cordelia!” Cordy began to say, extending her hand to the extremely tall and incredibly handsome college student with longish hair. He looked as though he were about to apologize to her when the elevator doors finally opened with a ding and they stepped inside. As the doors shut and the elevator began to descend, Cordelia turned again to Sam.

“As I was saying…” she began to explain, but all of a sudden Cordy felt a bright, supernatural wave of calm rush over her. “Oh shit…” she said, as the silvery walls around her faded away to a bright, glowing white. Out of the blindingly luminescent clouds shapes began to form. There were students, hundreds of students all standing motionless around her. As she watched their eyes went black and faces grew cold and grim. Sam Winchester stood at the center, seemingly unaware of what was happening, but it was clear to her the there were waves of fire and darkness and heat rolling off of him. A demonic cackling rang out so loudly that it hurt her eardrums. 

When she opened up her eyes there was nothing below her feet, and with a gasp she stiffened and fell several feet right into the waiting arms of Wesley. 

“Good lord!” He said, staggering, “Can you try, in the future, not to levitate in an elevator? Please?!” 

Both Dean and Sam were staring at them, jaws agape.

“Are you all right?” Wesley whispered, helping Cordelia get her balance.

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s just a vision… they don’t hurt anymore.” She said like that was something relevant. “They used to! Boy howdy!” Cordelia tried to smile casually like nothing had happened. She looked at Sam. The young man before her didn’t look anything like the demonic figure in her vision, but there was no mistaking that it had been him. 

“WHAT. THE. HELL.” Sam said, as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and it was his turn to get shushed, this time by a librarian. He swept towards the exit of the library, closely followed by Dean, with Wesley and Cordy hanging to the rear.

“What did you see?” Wesley asked, once they were back out to the red brick sidewalks outside the library. 

“I think Sam’s in trouble. Or he is trouble, it’s hard to tell.” 

“What?” Dean turned around. “What did you say about my brother?” 

“Look.” Sam turned around to face his brothers companions. “I’m sorry. I don’t know who you two are, or how you got wrapped up with my family, but I have to tell you, I don’t do this kind of stuff anymore.”

“Sam..” Dean said, almost pleadingly.

“No. Whatever magic or supernatural bullshit this is, I don’t have anything to do with it. I’m going to school, Dean. I’m going to be a lawyer. That’s it.”

The two brothers stared at each other. Dean bristled at Sam’s complete dismissal of the entire motivating force of his life, but he couldn’t find the words to fight back. He hadn’t seen in his brother in months, and Sam’s expression just then, for everything in the world, looked the way it used to when he was a little kid and wanted to watch the next episode of Matlock on the motel tv rather than go to bed.

“Hey.” Cordelia said. “Magic and supernatural stuff isn’t bullshit. I help people. Dean helps people too. And you, you KNOW that there’s more to life than just what’s on the outside, and you’re going to just stick your fingers in your ears and pretend it all doesn’t exist?”

Sam looked at Cordelia skeptically.

“I never asked for this.” He said. 

“Oh shit, you think I asked for this? I almost DIED, for this, so I can help people! And you’re going to be a lawyer? Great, because lawyers are SO FAMOUS for helping the little guy.” 

“All right, reign it in there a bit Cordy…” Wesley said. 

“I’m sorry to bother you, Sam.” Dean said, coolly. “I just wanted to, you know, see you. Say hi. You just, do whatever you do. I’m going to get back to dad.” He started to walk away. Cordelia gave Sam a good stink-eye, and followed after Dean. Wesley walked up to him sheepishly.

“Hello! I’m Wesley Wyndam-Price. I hunt demons, you know, etcetera. Nice to meet you! I’ll be off then.” He trotted after his companions, leaving Sam alone on campus. 

Sam adjusted his backpack, watching his brother storm off. It was weird that their dad wasn’t there. Maybe Dean had finally left dad and was doing his own thing. He must have driven a long way to come visit him, maybe he’d hitched a ride with floaty girl and english guy. Sam was about to go run after Dean when he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder in a friendly, bro-ey way.

“Hey Sam, what’s up? You look pretty upset.”

“Oh, hey Brady.” Sam smiled at the blonde man who was probably his best friend at the school. “It’s nothing. Geez, I’m glad to see you.” 

“No worries bro! No worries. I was going to go grab some pizza before my 6pm class. Wanna come? My treat.” 

“God, music to my ears!” Sam smiled at his friend. This was what it was all for. He didn’t need ghosts and demons and all that in his life. He had good, normal, real life friends. Like Brady. 

The drive back to Los Angeles was mostly silent. Dean stared out the window, trying to focus on distant shapes, blurred by the smog. 

Cordelia was a more aggressive driver than Wesley, and after forcing her way over 4 lanes of traffic and flipping off anybody that honked, she finally made it off the highway and pulled into a dingey gas station.

“You guys can sit here and be dudely or whatever.” She grumbled “I gotta pee.” She stepped out of the car, slamming the door a tiny bit aggressively.

Dean slid down in his seat a bit. Wesley, who had drifted off, snapped awake with a jolt.

“Right! Yes. Good.” He mumbled. The silence, which had been slightly mitigated by engine rumblings and the general exhaustion that accompanies long car rides, was suddenly less manageable. Dean stared straight ahead, like he was trying to count every single old piece of gum stuck to the cement block exterior of the gas station. Wesley found himself scrambling for something to say. “I just realized,” he said, “You’ve never seen Cordelia have a vision before. I suppose that must have been off putting. See, that was why she was floating earlier…”

“I’m not gay, you know.” Dean said, taking Wesley by surprise.

“Oh.” Wesley wasn’t sure how to handle that interjection. Say what he would, Dean HAD tried to kiss him last night. “If you are it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I’M NOT.” Dean repeated. He liked girls. He’d had a ton of girlfriends at every school he and Sam ever went to. And he liked them! So yes, maybe sometimes he noticed boys also, and there had been that one time his dad had found him in a bar chatting a little too closely with some dark haired guy whose name he didn’t even remember. His dad hadn’t said anything, but the deep profound discomfort of his silence on the subject spoke volumes. Dean had vowed to never again explore any of those feelings, it just wasn’t worth upsetting his dad. Last night had been a moment of weakness, the result of the whiskey and the first empathetic listener he’d spoken with in a long time.

“Look,” Wesley pushed his glasses up, trying to collect his thoughts. “I don’t care that you tried to kiss me, but I think it’s probably healthier for you if you admit that you did.”

“Fuck you, dude.” Dean grumbled, stepping out of the car, aggressively slamming the door behind him. He passed Cordelia in a huff.

“Gotta piss.” He said.

“Watch out!” Cordelia was going to tell him it was an incredibly gross unisex bathroom with a very wet floor and the light didn’t work, but he had already stormed in. She shrugged and made her way back to the car, where Wesley, whom she had left half asleep, was sitting upright in the back seat looking a little irritate.

“That boy is an idiot.” Wesley muttered. 

“Yeah? Well he’s got a surprise for him in that public restroom, let me tell ya.”

Wesley smiled. You could always count on Cordelia. Remembering catching her in the elevator earlier, he asked, “Cordelia, I’m sorry, we never spoke about your vision. What was it about? I got so caught up in the family drama I forgot to ask”

“No… it…” Cordelia saw, once again, Sam Winchester, standing calmly and unaware in a field of flame. “It felt different. This one wasn’t so much ‘immediate and intense danger’ as a sort of ‘precautionary vision,” but that Sam kid, there’s something up with him.”

As Dean Winchester stumbled out of the side door of the gas station, blinking in the fluorescent light, looking as though he had seen some things, Wesley couldn’t help but sigh in sympathy. That boy loved his brother more than life itself, and if what Cordelia said was true, that was going to lead to problems. Wesley had already seen the kind of problem John Winchester was for his son, and poor Dean loved his father with that same, self-consuming burn. 

Dean stumbled back into the car.

“I”ve been to a lot of public restrooms, but that… that was a memorable one.”

“Yeah, I tried to warn you.” Cordy said with a cautious smile.

“I think I need to disinfect my whole body.” 

“Same. We good? Ready to roll?”

Dean glanced at Wesley in the rear view mirror, and there was the smallest hint of good will in his eyes. 

“I’m good.” He said.

“Let’s go then.” Wesley said. 

The next morning John Winchester and Dean Winchester packed up all of their things at just about 3AM and crept out of the hotel room in the dark. John had heard of some suspicious, demon cult like activity out in Texas and wanted to head out on the road as soon as possible. Goodbyes were awkward, best avoided. Dean, when his dad wasn’t looking, scribbled “Thanks” and a little happy face on the yellowed hotel room stationery. They didn’t make it to the door of the hotel before a voice interrupted them.

“Checking out, huh?” 

John turned, struggling to focus in the pitch darkness.

“Angel. I always forget that son of a bitch is a vampire.” He muttered.

“Everybody does, which is so weird because I am CONSTANTLY reminding them.” Angel snapped the lights on and made his way to the door, bouncing his baby on his shoulder. He smiled and extended a free hand, “Winchesters, it’s been a pleasure.”

“It’s an interesting set up you’ve got here. Just doesn’t work for us.” John said. Dean stood behind him, bag on his shoulder, staring at the ground.

“Come by any time.” Angel said, trying to make eye contact with Dean in particular, but it was too late, the two men were already out the door and rescuing their black Chevy Impala from where it had been parked on the street for a few lonely days. “Yeah, he’s totally never coming back.” Angel sighed and held Conor in what he had heard described as the “football hold”

“This father/son thing can be kind of messed up huh? Good thing we’re totally normal right?’ He stroked his son’s cheek. “I'm always going to take care of you, Connor.” 

END.


End file.
